Dorne 301 AC.
Doran Martell.
Never before had he seen the like of it. The Sea of Dorne was covered in ships from the shore to the horizon. Sitting in his wheeled chair with the Myrish Eye in his hands, Doran felt a momentary panic. Forgetting for a moment that the men on board these ships came as allies and not as enemies. Thankfully it passed quickly and once it did, he called for Areo and his servants to take him to the Tower of the Sun.
Arianne, Quentyn, and Trystane all joined him and took their places as they awaited Oberyn's return and their first true look at the men he brought back from Essos with him. Doran doing his best to work out the numbers and to come up with a plan on how best to use them. It took longer than he expected for his brother to make his way to the Old Palace and Doran welcomed seeing Oberyn's smiling face once he arrived. As he did too the men who arrived with him.
With no need for pretense or worry about their plans leaking, Oberyn introduced the men as who they were. Harry Strickland, the Captain-General of the Golden Company, Malaquo Maegyr, the Commander of the Tiger Cloaks and last but by no means least, Pyat Pree a warlock from Qarth and Daario Naharis who it seemed all the other men deferred to. Though why they did so to such a man was not something Doran yet understood.
"I am most pleased to welcome you back to Sunspear, Brother. And your companions too. Food and refreshments, as well as our best rooms, are yours, my friends. I'll let you get settled before we speak on more important matters."
"My Prince." Daario Naharis said, bowing almost mockingly.
It needed no look from him for Arianne to move to the blue-haired Daario Naharis, his daughter escorting the man personally to his chambers. A look to Oberyn, however, had his brother following after Doran as he was wheeled to his solar, the questions on the tip of his tongue soon to be answered.
"You encountered no problems on your travel?" he asked, as Oberyn took a seat.
"None, we heard tale that the Dragon had some dealings in Essos, yet not once did he look or come our way."
"And should he have done so?" Doran asked curiously.
"Then he'd have found himself shit out of luck, brother." Oberyn chuckled.
For the next hour or so, Doran listened as Oberyn spoke of the makeup of their forces. All in all, the Golden Company and the Tiger Cloaks brought 40,000 men to bear. Added to their own close to 50,000 spears, it was a force to be reckoned with. Though should Daemon Targaryen manage to bring together the entire realm against them, it was not one that would be enough to guarantee victory.
As always, Dorne would need to be cleverer than their enemies. They would need to strike where best suited them and where their foes were at their weakest. There was the dragon too to consider. Scorpions and bolts covered in poison could mayhap harm the dragon. While a lucky shot could very well kill it, and yet Doran unlike others in Dorne put little faith in their ability to do to Daemon Targaryen and the black dragon what they did to Rhaenys and her silver one all those years ago.
"You're sure about the dragon, Oberyn?" he asked, mayhap for the fourth or fifth time that night.
"The Warlock is, brother."
They feasted to their new alliance that night. Doran watched as Arianne flirted far too openly with Daario Naharis. Though for once his daughter's proclivities would mayhap work in his favor, as he wished to know much and more about the man who seemed in overall command of their allies. Harry Strickland was an open book to him, as too was Malaquo Maegyr. Their men were far more important and impressive than they themselves were in Doran's eyes.
The Warlock too was somewhat understandable and welcome. Daario Naharis on the other hand was too much of an enigma for Doran to truly get a read on the man. He unnerved Doran somewhat. Seemed far too comfortable and in command for a man of his station and that gave Doran much pause. Still, most of that first night was spent lost in thoughts of what would soon be done to House Targaryen and on Dorne and Doran finally getting their due. It would not fall to him to rule, that honor going to his daughter, but rule they would and before they did so, the dragons would bleed.
"Daemon Targaryen most of all," Doran whispered.
A Week Later.
Plans had been made, plots put in place, and an army now marched. Doran had used his time to further take the measure of the men who led and those who followed. Daario Naharis had a personal grudge against Daemon Targaryen, as too did Malaquo Maegyr and Pyat Pree. Arianne had done her work well and Doran found no reason to worry further about any of the men he now named as allies. Other than about their actual abilities that was. Oberyn though spoke up on their suitability for the battles ahead and as always, Doran deferred to his brother on such things.
As for those battles, the details of them he left to Oberyn to decide. Where they would be fought, how they'd fight them, even the steps they'd take to nullify those aligned against them, all fell now under his brother's purview. By land and by sea, King's Landing would be surrounded. They'd march where they were not expected and attack where they and only they decided. The battles would be ones of their choosing and the tactics used in those battles were ones long used by Dorne.
No quarter would be offered but to those who it served them to offer it to. Hostages would be taken to force Daemon Targaryen to his knees and should they fail to do so, then the Warlock and Daario Naharis would well earn the coin that Doran had promised them. That it was wealth and position that Daario Naharis sought as well as some measure of revenge, made him a man that Doran now truly had the measure of. A man easily dealt with once he'd served his purpose and Oberyn now had orders to do just that.
" He dies, brother. When all is said and done, we pay him only in blood."
" As you command, brother."
Despite wishing for his family by his side, Quentyn marched with the army under his uncle's command. Doran understood well how it would look if Dornishmen were sent to war and his son was not. Trystane too offered to go and play his part, only his age and Doran's reluctance to send both his sons into battle stopped him from joining his uncle and brother. Arianne seemed somewhat enamored with the man who believed he led their forces, another reason why Daario Naharis would meet his end when the war was won. His daughter was to be Queen and would need a suitable match for her King Consort. That match was certainly not one found in a sellsword from Essos.
Almost as quickly as they had arrived, the army from the East had now departed. In the Prince's Pass, Oberyn would meet up with their own men and lead them North, and Doran wished he was a younger man so he could join in the campaign. Though he'd never truly been a warrior and while he could lead from atop a horse, he was best served where he was. Or so he told himself as he took to his bed later that night.
"House Martell's blood on the Iron Throne. What I'm owed," he said softly as he fell to sleep. Eight and ten years of work were soon to be paid off in full.
Essos 301 AC.
Thoros of Myr.
Before the celebrations, ceremonies for the dead had to be held and so he, Ser Arthur, and Daemon stood with their heads bowed as Drogo sent his fallen warriors onto the grass-filled lands where the Great Stallion named his home. Words were spoken of the great deeds that these warriors had accomplished in their lives and then pyres were lit and they were sent on their way.
It fell to Thoros himself to speak words on some of the other fallen. The Warrior Women looked to him as a representative of R'hllor to speak for the dead and Thoros was only too happy to do so. He spoke too over the few members of the Fiery Hand that had fallen. Less than forty had met their ends this night and they were now welcomed into R'hllor's warm embrace. Once he had done so, it was to the pyres that contained the bodies of the Unsullied who'd lost their lives. Torgho Nudho led the lighting of those pyres while Daemon spoke the words. Then, with the dead honored, it was to matters of the living they turned their attention.
Soon enough the Unsullied would make their way to Westeros, or so Thoros believed. Tonight, however, was a night for celebration and there were few things as enjoyable in this world as a Dothraki victory feast. Even Daemon looked keen for the night to come and Thoros much enjoyed seeing the laughing and japing that his prince and Drogo were engaged in. Both men happy that despite the loss of life, the victory had not come at a cost they couldn't afford to pay. Happy too that both of them had come through the battle unscathed. Turning to Ser Arthur, Thoros smiled broadly as he bid the knight to let his guard down for one night at least. Laughing loudly at the reply he was given.
"Very well, but if you think I'm drinking any of that god-awful Mare's Milk, then you've lost your mind."
"And soon my wits, Ser Arthur," Thoros said as he and the knight moved to follow after Daemon, Drogo, and the Khal of Khals' Bloodriders.
As with all Dothraki celebrations, sex played a big part in things and Thoros more than once almost doubled over at the look on Ser Arthur's face. The sight of men and women coupling right in front of where the knight sat and how free they were with their affections, was not something that Arthur was used to. More often than not it led to a fight, bloodshed, or even death, which only confused the Dornishman even more.
More than one Dothraki tried to couple with one of the Warrior Women and had to then prove their vigor in order to do so. A fight, some resistance, then if you were deemed worthy, submission, all seemed to be the order of the day. It made Thoros think of the Free Folk and what Tormund had referred to as stealing their women. A fond smile coming over his face at the thoughts of the lands beyond the Wall and wondered how those who named it their home were now faring.
Hearing a loud slap as Drogo almost knocked Daemon to the ground with his reaction to one of the japes, brought a truer smile to Thoros' face. A smile that had an effect that took him completely by surprise when one of the Warrior Women moved his way. The laugh then came loudly and truly from Ser Arthur when the woman spoke her words after Thoros had refused her advances.
"You swore no vow of chastity, as far as I was aware?" Ser Arthur asked and Thoros shook his head.
"No, no vow, and yet it's one I've kept to regardless."
"For how long?" Arthur asked curiously.
"Since I accepted R'hllor into my heart."
It was only half a lie, as it had been sometime before he'd done so that Thoros had last lain with a woman. A woman who he could see still if he closed his eyes and let himself think on days long passed. Bringing the horn to his lips, Thoros drank down the foul-tasting liquid inside and refused to do so, however. Some thoughts were best for another night and not one of celebration, after all.
Long into the night, the celebrations went and Thoros found not his bed nor sleep. He drank and spoke to men of the Fiery Hand who too were found with a horn of something or other in their hand more often than not. Ser Arthur was dead to the world after but two drinks and Thoros and Torgho Nudho helped the knight to his bed. While Daemon and Drogo drank and matched each other so closely that Thoros would wager neither of them knew who fell first.
When the sun rose the next morning, Thoros moved to the nearby stream and ducked his head beneath the cold crisp water. Making his way back through men and women who all looked the worse for wear, he soon met Torgho Nudho who looked anything but. The Unsullied leader and his men had not shared a true drink nor allowed a drop of anything other than water pass their lips and not even Daemon could make them. For once they were on a war footing, it took them some amount of time to return to not being so.
"We march today?" Torgho Nudho asked, his voice sounding far too loud in Thoros' head.
"This is not the last of our fights, old friend."
"Westeros?"
"Westeros," Thoros replied and Torgho Nudho simply nodded his head.
Waking Daemon was easy enough, his prince and Drogo were both happy to see the morning and not even the thoughts of parting seemed to limit that happiness. Ser Arthur on the other hand was fighting off his first hangover and though he looked at it warily, he drank down the drink that Thoros prepared for him. It took the knight some time to come back to himself, but by midday, he was the Sword of the Morning once more and by then the Unsullied and the Fiery Hand had begun their long march.
Before saying their goodbyes to Drogo and the Khalasar, Daemon, Arthur and he made their way to Samyriana along with Phiranah and her Warrior Women. They were greeted by Lazanor Sanerah and a large group of the Great Fathers. Each of them was more than happy to see that so many of their Warrior Women and especially the Commander had survived. Daemon was effusive in his praise of their ability and named them as key to the victory they achieved. All but Phiranah welcomed his words and took them as true. For any who had fought in the battle knew that it was Daemon, Lyanax, and R'hllor who had won them their victory and a true warrior such as Phiranah would certainly name it so.
Yet, Thoros understood his prince's actions and the reason for his words. As he did when Daemon spoke privately to Phiranah before they left Samyriana behind. He understood too why Daemon was both eager to leave these lands and yet very much not at the same time. His prince's expression telling him of the worry and doubt that he carried inside of him, as well as the fear of being too late.
"We have time, Daemon," he whispered.
"Not much, I fear."
"Enough," he said firmly and Daemon nodded before patting him on the shoulder, the two horses walking side by side as they returned to the Dothraki camp.
Once there the goodbyes were indeed hard to bear. As for once, Thoros and he wagered Daemon and Drogo too, wondered if these were to be final ones.
Would they see these lands and Drogo again?
Was this the last time they'd meet?
If so then how do you say goodbye to men you name friends and who you've bled in battle with? Men, you named your brothers as Daemon and Drogo named each other.
There were no answers to the first of those questions, not for now at least. As for the last of them, Thoros looked on as Daemon and Drogo embraced and spoke words that only they could hear. He said his own goodbyes to Rakharo and to others that he named as true friends. Then, he, Arthur, and Daemon walked to where Lyanax awaited for them and though he looked back more than once, Daemon did not.
Upon the back of the black dragon, Thoros felt the vibrations of the loud roar that came from deep within Lyanax. He saw the Arakhs being held high and then they were in the sky and heading West. It felt like in no time at all they were landing and he was happy to see Davos, Mathis, Dale, and Melisandre, as they were to see that he, Arthur, and Daemon were all unharmed.
Briefly, they spoke of the battle and its outcome and then Daemon bid Davos to bring the Unsullied and Fiery Hand with him upon his return. Melisandre then joined them on the black dragon's back and once again they were flying high above the lands and then the sea. They stopped only once again and that was later that night. Daemon told them that on the morrow they'd fly as far as they could and yet after looking into the flames that night, his prince changed his mind. They'd still fly quickly to Westeros, it just wouldn't be without stops or time to rest. The danger they faced was building but not yet ready to be unleashed.
"Should you not seek to bring your dragon to bear upon them before they can do so, Daemon?" Arthur asked.
"Would it not have been helpful to ask for Drogo's aid, my prince?" Melisandre added.
"Drogo offered his aid and I bid him not to do so. He has played his part and won his fight and I'd much prefer him to seek no other." Daemon said, answering Melisandre's question first. "As for a pre-emptive attack, would that it could be so, Arthur, but not even the flames or R'hllor himself can tell me where to launch that attack."
"Would it not be Dorne if Prince Oberyn is involved, Daemon?" he asked.
"Logic would say so, Thoros. Yet we're not dealing with men who act logically. White Eyes, that's what we've to face and just like the red or blue ones, we fight the fight that we need and only that fight." Daemon paused, lost in thought, and then smiled a true and full smile. "This game of cyvasse that R'hllor's been playing, it's almost reached its end and like with any such game, all the pieces need to be moved and put in place before it can be won or lost."
"And you're sure of this?" Arthur asked.
"I'm sure my god has a plan, Arthur, that he plays this game to win and that with his will and favor, win we will."
King's Landing 301 AC.
Rhaella Targaryen.
There had been a time when it was to Varys that her family looked for answers. Firstly, her husband and then her son, both of them trusting that the Eunuch's ability to weed out secrets was more useful than any doubts about his loyalty. Rhaella had never thought so, so with Bon's help, it had been from other sources she got the information that she trusted. Something that was only expanded upon when Daemon disappeared.
Over the years the Hundred had created a spy network that more than rivaled the Little Birds that Varys had used. One whose information could be trusted completely and who had rarely failed her. True they knew not the truth of Varys or Littlefinger, nor the plots against her family from those in Essos, but Daemon had a god's favor and he too knew not the true extent of them. So Rhaella could blame not those who were mortal when Daemon blamed not the god he placed his faith in.
Now more than ever, that network had been set to task and the news that she received was worrying, to say the least. Dorne not only plotted against them, but it had brought allies to bear and a war was now inevitable. The Golden Company had landed in Westeros once more and after Rhaella had read the missives, she, Bon, and men of the Hundred made their way to the Red Temple to speak to Lady Kinvara. So focused was she on the task ahead of her, that Rhaella paid little attention to the size of the crowd or the numbers who were at worship. Instead, she simply asked for and was immediately granted a meeting with the High Priestess.
"If you'd follow me, my queen." a young dark-haired lady said and Rhaella, Bon, and her guards followed the woman down a long corridor and into a room filled with braziers. Lady Kinvara was standing there already waiting for her and Rhaella wondered if she'd expected the visit or just beat her to the room.
"My Queen." Lady Kinvara said warmly.
"Lady Kinvara, you know why I'm here?" she asked curiously.
"I assume to seek answers about my prince, my queen."
"Yes and no," Rhaella said, sure now that the woman had just beaten her to the room and hadn't been waiting for her. Which for some reason comforted her slightly. "Dorne moves against us, Lady Kinvara. They and their allies seek war and I would seek answers so as to best prepare for that war."
"I would require a drop of your blood, my queen."
A nod of Rhaella's head and then a moment later, Kinvara stood in front of her and pricked her finger. She was given a small piece of white cloth to absorb the blood and once its whiteness had turned red and her blood had pooled inside it, Kinvara asked for it back. Then, despite promising herself that she'd not look into the flames again, not after what Daemon had shown her, Rhaella did just that.
An army celebrated, one that looked like no other. Savage Horselords, Warrior Women, one and all they drank, fucked, and made merry. Among them were faces that Rhaella began to recognize. One or two Unsullied that had guarded Daemon's room after he'd fallen. Their commander looking as stiff and resolute as always. Ser Arthur, for once with a drink in his hand and Thoros of Myr laughing and japing with one of the Horselords.
Finally, she saw her grandson. Daemon was fit and well, healthy and unharmed. He sat beside a man who was nearly a foot and a half taller than he and with whom he seemed most friendly. The night turned to day and each of the men began to say their goodbyes. The Unsullied marched en masse, Thoros and Arthur moved to where Lyanax awaited them and Daemon embraced the tall man from before as if he was his brother. Then the three of them climbed atop the black dragon and to Rhaella's great relief, it was west they flew.
The images came thick and fast then. An attack on a keep of summer. An ambush in the woods near where three rivers converged. Men coming out of the shadows seeking to capture a queen, princess, or cousin. While all the while an army marched and sought to end the line of dragons for once and for all. There were other images too, these more fleeting. Rubies and Red Eyes, eyes of white, dragon flames and shadows. Oberyn Martell and his spear and a blue-haired man wielding a curved blade of ice.
"My Queen."
"Rhaella…."
The voices sounded far away and it took Rhaella a moment to identify them. Lady Kinvara and most especially, Bon, showed their concerns as she crumbled to the ground. Welcoming the cool mug of water when it was given to her and telling both the High Priestess and Bonifer that she was well and unharmed, Rhaella took a moment to rise back to her feet. When she did so, she asked Kinvara if she too had seen what she had, only to be told she had not. Bon too had seen little in the flames and had she more time to consider things, then Rhaella would have wondered why that was. As it was, she had little time and much to do and so she did not.
"We must make ready. Daemon returns, but it falls to us." Rhaella said once she'd regained her footing. "Lady Kinvara, your followers, your fellow priests, and priestesses."
"My Queen?"
"Have them look to the flames, my lady. Seek guidance from your god, for we'll be in much need of it in the days and weeks to come."
"As you command, my queen," Kinvara said. Though Rhaella was under no illusion that her words commanded the lady any. It was because she was Daemon's grandmother that she was being listened to, that and that alone.
"Bon, we must make ready, the city must be closed down. It needs must be readied for a siege as too must the docks."
"It shall be done, my queen," Bon said, more formally than was needed, and yet her love was a dutiful man. Especially when it came to commands from her "All the Hundred, Bon, we'll need them all." she added, Bon nodding as he led her from the Red Temple and back to the Red Keep.
Rhaella looked at those she passed along the way. Men, women, and children who'd not known any fighting in many a year. Eight and ten years ago was the last time this city had been besieged and Rhaella shuddered to think what that could have cost them had Elia not held firm and Rhaegar not been victorious. It now fell to a different king and queen to do the same this time and even though she knew it was far too soon for Daemon to return, it was to the skies that she looked next, and to them, she looked that night as well.
Firstly though there was much that she could and would do. Though when she arrived back at the Red Keep it was to find that the Queen, her ladies, and Sansa Stark had all decided that today was a good day to visit one of the orphanages. Calling for her daughter, son, and granddaughter to meet her in her rooms, Rhaella breathed with relief when all three arrived soon after. Then she asked Bon to see that men of the Hundred were assigned to each of them and that some were sent to ensure that Myrcella and those with her returned safely to the Red Keep.
"Take a seat, all of you," Rhaella said as Bon left to do as she bid. Rhaenys, Dany, and Viserys looked at each other, then at her, as they took their seats. "We're soon to be at war, under attack."
"No one would dare," Viserys said and Rhaella wished that was so. "I know not if this is the war that Daemon says he must wage or simply another that comes at an inopportune time, but Dorne rises and they do not do so alone."
"Mother?" Dany moved to her, her hand shaking as she reached out for Rhaella's own.
Rhaenys sat and spoke little, her expression one of anger not worry. Never did her granddaughter look more like her mother than she did right then and Rhaella found that a welcome thing. For she would need some of Elia's strength in order to deal with what they were soon to face.
"I've already sent word to those around the Realm to make ready, though not to march as of yet," Rhaella said and Rhaenys looked at her and nodded before rising to her feet.
"Then I shall do so at once." her granddaughter said firmly.
"To the Prince's Pass, Rhaenys. Half to there and half to King's Landing itself. Speak to Bon and Ser Barristan to decide which go where."
"The North, Mother?" Viserys asked.
"Them too, son."
After telling Rhaenys not to leave the Red Keep and to keep herself surrounded by guards she could trust, Rhaella spoke to her son and daughter. Viserys was sent to fetch Lord Stannis, as the city needed to be shut down and the Master of Laws controlled the Gold Cloaks. Her son asked for and was given her permission to act in the role he'd been assigned to, yet he was left with no doubt that he was to be careful when doing so. That men of the Hundred were to guard him even amongst men he named as good and true.
"I'll do as you bid, Mother."
"Be safe, my son. That's all I ask of you."
A kiss to her cheek, a far too short embrace, and then Viserys was gone and Dany took her place in Rhaella's arms. They were joined a little while later by Missandei, much to her daughter's relief, and together they awaited Bon's return. The hours seemed to be never-ending and until the Red Keep, the City itself, and everyone she cared for was safe and far from harm, Rhaella would rest little.
Until Daemon returned, each day and night would be one that saw her fret and worry and when he did, Rhaella would see Fire and Blood rained down on House Martell, Dorne, and any who allied with them. The Snakes had gone too far and once again they would feel a Dragon's Wroth. This time they would feel it for true. On that Rhaella vowed.
King's Landing 301 AC.
Myrcella.
The trip to the Orphanage was done on a whim. It was unplanned and because of such, it caused consternation amongst her guards. Though given she traveled there with two Kingsguard, a number of Unsullied, two men of the Fiery Hand, along with Sansa's and Margaery's own guards, it really shouldn't have to Myrcella's mind.
Still, she allowed them their worries and given what had happened to Aegon in this very city, they were not completely unfounded. Along with Sansa and Margaery, Rosamund joined her. As too did Margaery's cousins and some of Sansa's ladies. It made the party a far larger one than Myrcella had intended and yet she knew that this was the way of things now. She was no longer simply Myrcella, granddaughter to the head of a Great House. Now she was Myrcella, Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms, wife to King Daemon Targaryen the First of his Name. Privacy and small parties to accompany her were no longer things she was truly allowed.
It was mayhap why she was miffed upon their arrival at the small orphanage. Though once she saw the children and was welcomed by their smiling faces, Myrcella put such thoughts aside. It was far too hard to stay annoyed or put out when you watched children rub their hands through Ghost's snow-white fur. While the look of wonder on their faces was more than enough to put a smile on Myrcella's own.
"He's so soft."
"Why doesn't he bark?"
"He's not a doggie, he's a wolfy."
The chattering of the children soon had others in their group laughing and smiling too. Even Ser Oswell wore a smirk upon his face as after Ghost, it was to Lady that the children turned their attention. Sansa even knelt down beside two girls whose hair was just as red as her own and helped them to pet the giant Direwolf.
Across the room, Margaery handed out fruits and candies and played with the girls and boys as if they were related to her and not strangers. Rosamund, Elinor, and Megga, all of them doing likewise. When Myrcella took a seat, she was joined by a small girl of no more than five Namedays old. The child looked at her and smiled when Myrcella nodded her head and gave her permission to sit beside her.
"Your hair is so pretty." the little girl said happily.
"Yours is too, little one," Myrcella replied, reaching out her fingers to rub them through the dark brown hair of the girl. "Would you like me to brush it for you? To style it?" she asked and the young girl looked at her with a face full of wonder, before nodding enthusiastically.
For the next hour or so, Myrcella brushed the girl's hair. Panna, as the girl had stuttered when Myrcella asked her name. Around the room, boys moved to the Kingsguard and asked to see their swords while the girls either played with Ghost and Lady or were treated to candies from Margaery and the others. Meanwhile, in front of her, a small line had formed and once she'd finished doing Panna's hair for her, another little girl looked at Myrcella with hopeful eyes.
"What's your name, little one?" Myrcella asked as she bid the girl to take a seat.
"Mara, your queen…" the girl said shakily, Myrcella smiling at her trying and failing to get the title right and caring not in the slightest that she'd not.
"You have pretty hair, Mara."
Five, six, mayhap even seven little girls got their hair brushed and styled by a queen that day. Their words to her went from scared and timid to quiet and confident as she spoke to them and asked them if they had all they wanted or needed. Some asked her for pretty dresses or for a brush like the one she used. Myrcella promising herself that she'd see that both were among the next delivery that the orphanage received.
All too soon, the day had to come to an end. A look from Ser Oswell to Ser Barristan had the latter move to her and reluctantly though it was, Myrcella said her goodbyes and promised to return. She was happy to see that she was not alone in not wishing to leave and yet once they'd done so, she worried they'd stayed too long. A small shiver ran down her spine as they stepped out to find that night was already falling. Words resounding in her head that only caused that shiver to return and double in force.
' For The Night is Dark and Full of Terrors'
It wasn't her words of warning, nor the attentiveness that both Ser Oswell and Ser Barristan paid to their surroundings that saved them, however. The honor for that fell to both Ghost and Lady, as Sansa's grey wolf howled a warning and Ghost moved quicker than anything his size should be able to and took down an archer. After that, it was controlled chaos. Men came out of the shadows and Ser Oswell moved in front of Myrcella while Ser Barristan, the men of the Fiery Hand, and Lady moved to deal with their attackers.
Around her, the Unsullied closed ranks, and their shields were used to cover her, Sansa, Margaery, and the rest of their party. Sansa and Margaery's guards helped out in this endeavor too, though some had gone with Ser Barristan to deal with the men who'd ambushed them. Time seemed to stretch on and on and other than loud pained shouts, Myrcella had no idea what was going on outside of the shielded group she was part of. Hearing Ser Barristan's voice was a comfort as too was seeing Ghost now move to her side. Even if the white wolf's fur was no longer as pristine as it had been but a few moments earlier.
"We move as one. Ser Oswell, the Queen." Ser Barristan commanded and though she could see little still, they began to walk forward slowly.
Twice more Ghost left her side and yet seeing Lady move to Sansa's and remain there was enough to make Myrcella relax some. Before too long they were joined by Gold Cloaks and by the time they reached the gates of the Red Keep, there were close to a hundred men guarding her and the others. Only once they were inside the safety of the Red Keep itself did the men who surrounded them move and Myrcella was relieved to see that all those with her were unharmed.
"Ser Barristan?" she asked as the knight looked her up and down and breathed out in relief when he saw she was truly unharmed.
"I'll explain all, my queen, but mayhap we need the Hand and Queen Rhaella present too."
"Ser Oswell, see they're brought to my solar."
"My queen I…"
"I'm perfectly safe with Ser Barristan and Ghost, Ser, and I would seek to get to the bottom of this sooner rather than later," she said, more commandingly than she felt.
Turning then to Sansa, Margaery, Rosamund, and the others, Myrcella once again made certain that they were all unharmed and told them she'd speak to them later. Then with Ser Barristan, Ghost, and the Unsullied, she moved through the keep and on to her chambers. Once inside, she took a moment for herself and entered her and Daemon's room, her hand touching her swollen belly as her true fear now raised its ugly head. Looking at Ghost who'd joined her, Myrcella could see just how covered in blood the white wolf was and so she began to check him for injuries. Relieved to find there were none and then asking for water to be brought so Ghost could be cleaned.
"Thank you, Ghost," she said softly as the wolf brushed its head against her belly, the sight of its blood-covered mouth bringing her comfort rather than repulsion.
Men had tried to kill her, for Myrcella had no doubt that she was the true target. Who they were, why that was, and whether or not they'd try again, she knew not. What she did know was that she'd be ready for them and they'd not find her afraid when they came for her. She was a Lioness and bore a Dragon in her womb, her days of cowering or being fearful were far behind her.
"My husband will burn you all," Myrcella said rising to her feet, Rhaenys and Rhaella having arrived and truths now needing to be told.
Summerhall 301 AC.
Elia Martell.
Even the air was better here, the lack of smell something that she much appreciated. As too was the difference in the noise. King's Landing was a bustling and busy city and even in the Red Keep, there were few places you could go that were peaceful and noise free. Here in Summerhall, those places were numerous and many. So much so that Elia wondered if that was why the Targaryens had picked it so many years earlier.
Whether that had truly been the reason, it mattered not. For it served her own needs well enough and just a simple stroll in the inner gardens or sitting and reading a book while her granddaughter played happily was enough to fill Elia's days. As for her granddaughter, she loved the keep and its ground even more than Elia, Rhaegar or Aegon did. Her days were filled with new adventures that she'd drag one or the other into, as she was right now.
"No peeking, Gamma."
"I'm not peeking." she chuckled.
"I can see you." her granddaughter sighed, hands on hips as she chided her.
"How about now?" Elia said placing her hands over her eyes.
No sooner had she done so than she heard the pitter-patter of her granddaughter's running steps. Elia counted to twenty and then opened her eyes to find no sight of her granddaughter anywhere. Rising to her feet, she moved around the garden and even asked one or two of the guards where her granddaughter was hiding. Laughing fully as they refused to tell her as they'd been ordered not to by the instigator of this game.
Not even Aegon would give her a hint as to where his daughter was hiding. Her son sat with an amused look on his face as Elia moved around the garden and eventually spied her granddaughter's feet as they stuck out from behind one of the rose bushes. Moving past it as if she'd not seen them, Elia sighed over elaborately and then loudly gave up.
"I'm stumped. I know not where she could have gotten to," she said as she looked out of the corner of her eye to the bush her granddaughter hid behind. "You win, Elia," she said loudly to much laughter.
Hearing the sound of true laughter that came from her granddaughter as she rushed firstly to her and then to Aegon, reminded Elia much of days gone past. While things were far more serious while living at the Red Keep, especially in those early days when Rhaegar ignored Daemon and almost refused him leave to do anything at all, there had been days of fun too. As children, Rhaenys and Aegon had tried to be friendly with their brother and it was only the passage of time that stopped that from being so.
"I won, Papa, I won again," Elia shouted happily as Aegon lifted her into his arms.
Then, almost in an instant, their day of fun and games was done. Guards came running and Elia, Aegon, and her granddaughter all looked on worriedly.
"My Queen, My prince, you must come with me now." Red Ant said, the Unsullied showing no signs of worry and yet there was urgency in his voice as he spoke.
"For why?" Aegon asked as he held his daughter more tightly to his chest.
"Attack, my prince."
No more words were needed and with a brief look to her son and granddaughter, Elia nodded and they were led back into the keep. They were brought to Rhaegar's solar and once there, Elia was happy to see her granddaughter's mother was safe and sound, though she worried that there was no sight of her husband.
"My husband, the King?" she asked Red Ant. Neither she nor Rhaegar were king or queen any longer and yet to the men that guarded them, it seems they'd be forever titled such.
"On the Ramparts, my queen."
Elia kissed first her son and then her granddaughter on the cheek. Embracing both of them before moving to do the same to her granddaughter's mother.
"Take me to the king," she commanded and Red Ant nodded to two of the Unsullied to do so.
Taking a long lingering look at her family as they took their seats, Elia followed after the guards and as she walked, her steps began to take on more and more purpose. The anger she felt that even here they'd come under attack, was true and righteous and almost reached boiling point by the time she was led out to where Rhaegar stood. Little did she know just how angry she was soon to become.
"Elia, Aegon, they are…" Rhaegar began, Elia, interrupting him.
"Safe and well, Rhaegar," she said as they hugged each other. "Who dares attack us?" she whispered.
"Dorne," Rhaegar said and Elia almost crumbled against him.
Her own family was behind this. They'd sent men to attack her home. True she knew they liked not Daemon or that they accepted his rule. Yet, even with all of that, Elia still held hope they would come to their senses. Daemon she believed wouldn't attack them if they did not provoke him further, the same it seemed could no longer be said for her family.
"What sigils, Rhaegar?" she asked as she moved from her husband's arms.
"I saw Qorgyle, Allyrion, and Wyl, along with some Yronwood," Rhaegar said as he handed her the Myrish Eye, Elia moving closer to the edge of the parapets to take a better look at the assembled army that sought to take their keep and mayhap even their lives.
' No, 'tis hostages that they seek us to be.' the voice in her head said loudly.
Rhaegar proved correct in his assessment and it angered Elia even more to see it. For some reason, she felt greatly aggrieved that Oberyn didn't have the courage to come and face her himself. Her brother now showing himself to be far more craven than Elia ever wagered he'd be. Though given just how angered at him and Doran that she was, mayhap Oberyn proved himself smarter than she gave him credit for.
"I'll parley with them," Elia said to a loud gasp from Rhaegar.
"Elia, you cannot, I refuse to…." her fingers on his lips stopped any further words and allowed her to explain her reasoning.
"Remember the Young Dragon, my love." she began. "I fear my brothers have lost their minds and I trust them not with your life."
"Yet you ask me to trust them with yours?" Rhaegar asked, shaking his head firmly as he did so.
"Dorne will not harm me, Rhaegar, not in such a way at least."
"Yet you believe they'd break parley and harm me?"
"I fear it, you should fear it not in regards to myself."
"I…."
After a kiss and some whispered words, less than an hour later, Elia, some Unsullied, and men that Daemon had chosen to act as their truest protectors, all rode out the gates of Summerhall under a flag of parley. Though they stopped close enough to the walls that they could turn and ride back should the parley be broken immediately. Yet as she suspected, they had no need to do so.
Once it had been seen to be her and not Rhaegar who'd ridden out, things took on a much different tone. Only the same number of men that had rode alongside Elia now rode to meet her. Men that she recognized and had supped in their halls when she was but a girl and to who she now offered a far from warm greeting.
"Princess, a surprise to…" Ryon Allyrion started before her words cut him off.
"You dare to address me as your princess when you bring an army to my doors?" Elia snapped. Before she then looked past him and to the others who came with him, a frown on her face as she did so.
Ser Ryon was the man in command, or so she'd wager. His companions were the heirs or first sons of their Houses and not the Lords themselves. Just as it was with Ser Ryon. Ser Gulian Qorgyle, Ser Cletus Yronwood, and Ser Wyland Wyl, all the other men were of an age with her son, not herself.
"It shames me to see you here, as it shames Dorne as well."
"It is you who shames Dorne and your House." Cletus Yronwood sneered, his words gaining him an angered look from Ser Ryon in the process.
"Careful Boy! Not only am I as much a Viper as my fool of a brother names himself, but I fly with dragons too." Elia said as she turned then to Ser Ryon. "Desist from this madness, Ser. Turn your army around and leave with honor or shame and doom your House and the lands we both love by continuing on this path."
"My prince commands and I obey." Ser Ryon said less firmly than he no doubt hoped.
"Even when that command is folly and will lead to the deaths of those you love?" she asked as she looked each of the four men in the eye. "You think Daemon Targaryen will show you mercy after an attack on his family? That Dorne is a match for him and his dragon? Or that the whole of Westeros won't rise up against you and make the Dragon's Wroth look like a skirmish by the time they're done?"
"We killed a dragon before, princess." Ser Wyland said and Elia laughed loudly at that.
"And you truly believe you'll be lucky enough to do so again?" Ask the Ironborn what happens when they bring a Dragons Rage down upon them. Ask the Greyjoys. Though there are far fewer of them now than there once were. Know too who Daemon names as kin and who his wife is before you continue down this path. For trust me, the North and the West will both rise at his command."
"We make you this offer, princess. Surrender and we'll see no harm comes to you, your son, or your granddaughter." Ser Ryon said.
"And what of my husband?" she asked.
"We make no guarantees for his safety, princess. His crimes need answering for and whether that's here today at our hands or later at the hands of your brothers, I know nor care which." Ser Ryon's words were allowed to sit for a moment, Elia doing a mummery of considering them. Something she was very much not.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Ser Cletus and Ser Wyland glancing at each other. Worry and annoyance on their faces and it took her a moment or two to realize why that was. A raven had landed in the rookery and another had been sent from it. The latter no doubt to King's Landing, while who sent the former, she knew not.
"Again I make a plea for sense to overrule idiocy," Elia said firmly. "This path ends with not only your deaths but with the end of your lines and the fall of your Houses. I swear it on the sands of Dorne. On Fire and Blood. No matter what my fate or the fate of my husband, son, and granddaughter turns out to be, your own will be decided by what actions you take this day."
"Then so be it." Ser Ryon said and as he moved to ride away, Elia raised her hand to stop him.
All four men smiled, thinking she'd changed her mind and was now willing to surrender. It proved to her that they knew little about her other than what her fools of brothers may have spoken. For she was even more Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken than Doran or Oberyn could ever claim to be.
"When the time comes, I'll not plead for your lives. Nor stop Daemon from making your ends as painful as they can be. I'll do all I can to ensure that you live long enough to watch your families meet their ends before you face your own. That raven you failed to stop." she said pointing back to the keep behind her. "That carries your names and tells of your crimes, it tells too of my resolve."
Elia welcomed the worried looks that appeared on their faces, the looks of concern. Now she intended to make sure that those worries only increased by as much as she could make them.
"It bears the words that we seek no negotiation on our behalf and that we accept no peace that's brokered with our lives. I am Elia Martell, I will live or die by mine own rules and not by those forced upon me. Remember this and remember it well. I was born Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken and should the gods will it, then that's how I shall die. Daemon is well aware of my feelings and regardless of today, it's him you'll face soon enough. I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, you'll need it."
She rode back to the keep as resolute as she'd ever felt in her life. Once she got there, she took note of their defenses and though she felt them more than enough, Elia was under no illusion that they'd hold here for any great period of time. Yet, it stopped not the firmness of her footsteps and she wavered not in her resolve as she walked to where Rhaegar awaited. Only the smile on her husband's face was enough to slow either.
"Rhaegar?"
"The Stormlords ride, my love. Two days hence."
"Then my words are as true as I claimed them to be."
"Words?" Rhaegar asked.
"I promised them their doom, my love."
Essos/Westeros 301 AC.
Daemon Targaryen.
Saying goodbye to Drogo was much harder than it had ever been. Daemon for the first time not knowing if it was a final goodbye they were sharing or whether or not they'd see each other again. Drogo had fulfilled his destiny, or part of it at least. In time, he'd wed, bring forth an heir, and the Stallion that Mounts the World would be born, his reward for doing as his god bid. For Daemon, his own destiny was still unfilled, although he'd been given his reward already. Happy thoughts of soon being reunited with his wife quickly forcing away the sad ones regarding Drogo and the Dothraki.
They parted as they always did, a warm embrace and fond words. Though Daemon could see that Drogo too felt as he did and wondered if they'd ever see each other again. Then, with their goodbyes said, it was to Lyanax and the sky once more. He, Thoros, and Arthur would be joined on the return flight by Melisandre, while Davos would ferry their men to Westeros. Daemon was certain now that the final fight was to be fought there and somewhat certain that at least part of that fight was to be against Dorne.
Three days after they'd closed Red Eyes forever, he, Thoros, and Melisandre looked to the flames and were shown the full extent of Dorne's folly. Oberyn had allied himself with the Tiger Cloaks of Volantis and the Golden Company along with others that the flames didn't show him. It confused Daemon at first as he saw no sign of White Eyes anywhere and so it was left to Thoros to offer up an explanation that made some sense.
"Mayhap it's as it was with the YiTish, Daemon," Thoros said as they sat around the fire, putting off going to their beds to have this conversation.
"Thoros?"
"Unlike with the Blue Eyes, the red ones fell more recently." Thoros began and Daemon bid him continue, even when Arthur interrupted.
"Those bodies looked a long time dead to my eyes, Thoros," Arthur said and yet Thoros' words made some sense to Daemon as he well remembered what the army beyond the Wall had looked like.
"You think they started out as the YiTish army?" he Thoros.
"It would make sense, would it not? Yi Ti rose and somehow…."
"What could do such a thing?" Arthur asked, visibly shaken.
"Not what, Who," Melisandre whispered.
Neither she, Thoros nor Daemon himself needed to speak the words and yet, Daemon did "The Great Other."
Arthur looked at them all confusedly and so despite not wishing to speak much on the subject, Daemon knew he must. For the next hour or so he explained how just as he was R'hllor's chosen, and R'hllor was the Lord of Light, his god had an opposite. That the Great Other sought to enslave the world and cover it in darkness while R'hllor sought to enlighten it and let it bathe in the sun. Daemon explained about the three champions that he was destined to face and how he'd beaten two of them. Which then led to questions about who the third may be.
"Oberyn?" Thoros asked and Daemon shook his head, not believing that Oberyn was any more than a tool to be used how the Great Other wished him and not some champion to fight for him.
"No, there is another," he said softly, before rising to his feet and making his way to where Lyanax lay.
Daemon slept by his dragon's side that night and willed his dreams to come to him. When they did, they were at first pleasant, only to then turn anything but. He dreamt of his grandmother, sister, brother, and father, of his niece, and his uncle and aunt. His family in the North and of Ghost, before finally seeing his wife as she stood in front of a looking glass and rubbed her hand over her swollen belly.
From there it was to days he hoped were not to come. Days filled with White Eyes shutting forever those of the people he loved. The Starks, his uncles, aunt, and cousins all falling to White Eyes. His grandmother, Ser Bonifer, Viserys, Daenerys, Rhaenys, Shiera, and even more of his family. His father, Elia, Aegon, and his daughter, all too falling and calling his name as they did so. Begging for him to come and offer them aid, to rescue them from their fate, or cursing him for failing to do so.
He saw Myrcella run only to be almost torn apart, the images so clear that even as Daemon slept, he cried true tears. Then it was to days long past that he was taken. To the gates of Yi Ti and another woman he loved, watching helplessly as the arrow pierced Talisa's heart and as she died in his arms. Finally, it was to the man who fired that arrow, his face seen by Daemon for the first time for true and so it was with the image of Daario Naharis that he awoke with.
"Naharis." he spat as he wiped his eyes and jumped to his feet, Thoros, Arthur, and Melisandre all finding their way to him and looking at him worriedly.
"My prince?" Melisandre asked, her concern for his well-being clear in both her expression and tone.
"It's Daario Naharis, he's the Third Champion," Daemon said, and while it took a short while for it to make sense to him, the others grasped it much more quickly. "We must fly and fly fast. I believe some of the attacks are now or will soon be underway. The fires, I must look to the fires."
They broke their fast as they flew, Daemon planning all the while. An attack on Dorne was mayhap the course of action that would be most effective. Though he knew not where the army was exactly or whether they marched by land or sailed by sea. He knew too that as powerful and capable as Lyanax and he were, it would take more than just the two of them to win this war. So even though they could mayhap strike a telling blow, Daemon forwent heading to Dorne, for now at least.
Besides, his worries for his family more than outweighed any true tactics or strategy he had. As too did the knowledge that it wasn't simply a normal army that he would soon be facing. Whether or not their eyes were already white, he knew not. What he did know, was that soon they would be. In the end, that and his fears that should he not see to his family's safety first, his nightmares would come true, was what won out. Yet still as they flew, he knew not where exactly he was flying to.
It wasn't visions from the flames that decided Daemon's destination, instead, it was Lyanax herself. His dragon took him not to King's Landing as he most wished her to do, but instead to the Stormlands and to the army that besieged Summerhall. An army that was to be the first men of Dorne to feel a dragon's flames since the Dragon's Wroth.